The Sounds Under Cacophony 

Silence
Now I can hear

Deafness is a gift 

The cacophony quiets

No voices 

No cries 

No pleads of sighs 

Nothingness in solitude 

Only the bubbles within my being

Vibrating feelings and knowing 

In quietness I hear

Stories and rhymes and humming 

All encompassing the world 

They’re there for all to listen 

However drowned by noise, you see 

Wishing you hear what I sense 

Wishing that it rumbled you 

In the world of silence 

There are messages permeating 

All about the atmosphere 

Around your bedroom at night 

Sometimes singing whispers 

As if angels were giggling that I’ve heard 

Because this world of magnetic energy 

Was here all along

BJ@2017
Thank you Poetess Haven for the image 

The Hiring; by The CIA By Bonnie Jennings 

The year was 2006 and my son was graduating from Georgia State that had roughly 55,000 students, and by the way, he graduated Magna Cum Laude. He was 0.001% away from a Complete Harvard scholarship. Bragging rights… Only a mother really cares, but the story is heightened by knowing this tidbit. 
Back to the CIA and wanting to be hired by the clandestine organization. My son, whom I’ll call code name Crocus, went to the job fair and filled out a CIA application. He heard nothing back and several months passed. His graduation was set for May 2007.
He had a private dorm room. One day, between classes he opens his private door and found a letter addressed to: Christian Anderson. So, he took the letter down to the student mailboxes for “Christian” to pick up.
Later, that letter was under his door again. This went on three times and he always returned it to the student mailboxes. 
One of those afternoons Crocus receives a phone call on his personal cell. The conversation:
“Did you get it?
Crocus: “Get what?”
“The letter?”
“What letter?” Crocus was baffled for the utter whispering and the raspy voice.
“The letter with the money?”
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
They hung up and there was the letter again addressed to Christian Anderson. Crocus took it to The Dean of Students who said, “We don’t have a Christian Anderson in our school.” 55,000 students….
“Okay.” Wondering what he should do with the letter, he opened it. In it he found $5,000.00 from a mosque in Philadelphia. He panicked a little and called mom…
“What should I do?” He asked.
“Take it to the pd now!” I insisted. As 9/11 had not been too long before… 
He did and they told him “it is a federal offense to open mail”. They gave him the money and said nothing more. He called mom again. “What should I do?
“Take it to The State Department immediately.”
He did and they said, “Thank you very much.” And that was all. He went on his academic way. 
In the middle of the night around 3 am or thereafter, Crocus received a phone call. 
“This is your interview with The CIA.” 
“Huh?” He said… They talked about whatever and the CIA said we will call you again in the middle of the night, expect your second interview (in a certain amount of days).”
“Okay.” 
That call came again and was followed by a rejection letter…
“We regret to inform you… blah, blah, blah…” But, they added, “Volunteer for Americorps.”
He did just that. 
From there…. The saga continues…

Mothers

You just need a hand to stroke your head
You only need a tender voice that tolerates your soul

You need a hug to say, “you’re swell.”

You need a mother who loves you and tucks you in bed 
Yearning at the moonlight and begging for relief 

Pleading with the stars for a reason from your grief 

Feeling beyond what this fleshly body that captures 

Desiring freedom from the entrapment of the gravity 
You want to fly beyond the wildest imagination 

And why are you held below the lowest atmosphere 

When you are meant for flight to hither tither and yon

Chained from rapture and left to learn, how to live and survive 
Breathe in and out controlling your soulish wanting 

Finding later, than sooner it comes by thankfulness 

The doors open when forgiveness begins blooming 

Rays of sunlight illuminate all the wanting to escape 
Thus peaceful energy arrives when you discover that your human 

🌳

BJ 2017
Imagine compliments of A Poets Haven 

The Final Goodbye 

Ever so delicately placing my hands on your head 

Gently before the contact your energies have said 

Hot and cool spots at different emerging places 

Must now perceive your vulnerabilities and your windows 
The healer has your best interest at heart 

Never stealing or breaking your trusted innocence 

Returning all the life for your benefits 

Loving God and loving the gifted destiny 
All is well and thankfully so sheltered

Even the loss of life and wounded children 

Wrapped up in a package called heavenly academia 

You thought you would die or burned in swelters 
And we didn’t. We lived. We wear a grand crown 

Only warriors allowed to adorn their heads

Remember you prayed to be strong and courageous 

And God answered prayers and you dawn his label 
It took all that you had to survive and you made it

You faired well under duress and slightly felt unstable 

And look at you now, even though, weary from trials 

The finale comes, our lessons enter the stage

When we take our final bows

And leave this place 🦋
BJ 2017
Ever so delicately placing my hands on your head 
Gently before the contact your energies have said 

Hot and cool spots at different emerging places 

Must now perceive your vulnerabilities and your windows 
The healer has your best interest at heart 

Never stealing or breaking your trusted innocence 

Returning all the life for your benefits 

Loving God and loving the gifted destiny 
All is well and thankfully so sheltered

Even the loss of life and wounded children 

Wrapped up in a package called heavenly academia 

You thought you would die or burned in swelters 
And we didn’t. We lived. We ware a grand crown 

Only warriors allowed to adorn their heads

Remember you prayed to be strong and courageous 

And God answered prayers and you dawn his label 
It took all that you had to survive and you made it

You faired well under duress and slightly felt unstable 

And look at you now, even though, weary from trials 

The finale comes, our lessons enter the stage

When we take our final bows

And leave this place 🦋
BJ 2017

Sunday Morning Reflections 

All delights my heart yearns for are now mine

Open are the portals and a clear pathway to me

Thankful for grace that brought them home

I open them one by one reverently 

Years passed and my doors were shut

Lessons learned unbolted strong locks

The blessings that waited are divine gifts

I open each one in thanksgiving and love 

A child of the kingdom has much to learn 

Perhaps not in one lifetime is Sophia revealed 

Gently she gifts a sojourner’s pilgrimage 

As not to drown out the wisdom bestowed 

Each golden nugget is cherished and refreshed 

Dusting off any cobwebs from forgetting 

Holding wisely each monumental turn

Each box finished is decorated, not returned 

I can’t bestow it to you my friend 

My lessons learned are not yours, you know

Rest assured when traveling the paths you take 

Have pretty boxes awaiting you at your place 

One day we shall complete the souls road

And compare our stories with the lessons told

The medals of valor and crowns on our heads

Won’t matter much because that’s behind 

Where now we see where once were we blind 

2017 BJ
Imagine compliments of A Poets Haven

A Message He Whistled

There blew a hot wind upon my face

Stoically stood by feeling, the air embrace 

Something’s felt brewing, so thought I 

Envisioning sights, heard a child cry

Looking to my right and then, back left

Noticed a sign waving soundlessly wheft 

Stillness enveloped a moment of time 

Another man, unaware, figured him blind

Can’t you see? Flailing my arms around 

He never blinked, nor cast a definitive frown 

He whistled a somber tune, as if, unaware 

Hello, do you hear moaning echoes, I implore?

No, he doesn’t. He looks, as he exists the door 

And as he moves towards the sill on the floor 

He looks my way, and smiles, as if, to say

You think too much, now don’t let it spoil the day 

He tips his hat, and faces the hot sultry wind

Stepping from the curb, he disappeared my friend 

The sign continued moving on the street corner 

Something was brewing that July, that was warmer 

Than anytime known, during any recent summer 

The news came on at five o’clock, as usual 

Drinking warm beer from a brass crucible 

Waited for sparks to fire from on the horizon 

The whistled dirge was that blind man’s siren 

Hung about “the now,” but rang out the future 

I’ll never forget the odd musical intruder 

Leaving a message behind when facing heat

Step out anyway, lest you surrender to defeat 

2017 BJ

Part two The Prince of Hearts

Hiding among the tall green weeds

Studying the prey, reading biographies 

Finding a link between you and your victim 

Acting as if you’re psychic an angel

Telling tales of the reasons you’re alike 

Truly a poetic magician of keen insights 

You’re not anything like me old slew foot 

Not even the slightest bit of the slippery words 

Rings true to the heart of a captivating red bird

Who lived in a cage with other women fledglings

Now go away and find other tall grass shielding 

Yes, unfortunately you’ll find virginal damsels 

Who hunger for the tender romantic verses 

All lies and deceit meant for the trap of primed love 

You’ll say,”no your the one that I must have.”

The lions pride is truly alluring and another ploy 

One more attempt to capture the vulnerable soul 

Tasty devouring the flesh of the lamed empathy 

That’s what you do, you can’t be helped, pathetic predators 

2017 BoJenn LLC

The Prince of Hearts ♥️ 

There your hands reach out to take me pursuit 

You who haven’t an earthly mother 

Grabbing at my hem, please take your hand away

Drowning your sorrows without my permission is truant

Taking advantage of another, finding the weaknesses 

Is devilish by thoughts and actions dear one 

Yes, life is hardly a picnic for brethren 

However, conmen are ignorant, geniuses 

Preying upon victims seen at a distance 

Magicians of deceitfulness by their actions 

Fall not onto the traps set on a path

They who lay and wait, for their catch

The spider engineers a web of beauty 

How intricate are the avenues of silk

All seems innocent and lovely beyond words 

Watch out! He waits until he reveals his needs 

The victim makes a choice that destines their fate

Shall they succumb to the spiders web of delight 

Or exit quickly without a goodbye 

C-ya! Then yell back confidently , “Hey! Checkmate!’ 

2017 BoJenn LLC

The Ascension 

Whenever the whispering voice was akin 

Time seemed to stop and all worries disappeared 

It was if another world was at my feet and I was invited 

The doors were open to adventure freely; there I awakened
Thunderstorms moved from where I’d come 

Shaking the distant past, it crumbled there behind me 

No cares or memories of where I’d been pilgriming 

Nothing mattered accepting the mountains without valleys 
The shattered mirror of fainted familiar faces 

Found amongst the shambles of glass and pieces 

Shoutouts called a name that I felt an attachment 

Yet, set mine eyes upon a rainbow of brilliant colors 
Louder called the tiny slivers of mirrored images

“Come back to us, you must not leave, please.” 

Turning to address the pleas, I did earnestly thank them 

Turning towards the lights rays, blinded momentarily 
“But, I must go on my way, there is a rainbow of golden myrrh,

And angelic songs vibrating from the fountains, see friends.”

And a tug of war occurred whilst they yearned their prayers 

The glass faces upon the ground had aromas of frankincense
The junipers lining the path set before the ascent permeated 

The essence of the here and now waged a brittle battle 

A tall man who radiated the warmest smile hugged me 

Giving me a choice, that I’d never seen, displayed majesty 
I looked at the broken mirrored glass 

Saw faces of people from my present past

Heard their love and songs from a place I once belonged 

Inviting me to return home, and then – clearly I did see that 

The children’s eyes were wet with tears of loosing their father so dear
Compassion dwelling in my very soul arose to their immediate attentions 

“Dear ones do not shed another tear, your father is nearby to hold you.

You see, I must transcend the sacred bridge separating man from all eternity 

And I shan’t do it alone without your songs and arms of tender mercies 

So sing me home then I shall find the way, lined by angelic children that love me 

And prayed 

2017 BoJenn 

War (to understand peace, war must be considered)

War is a division of ideas that demand a right 

It separates the shortest distance between foresight 

It draws a line in stone hearts refusing other freedoms 

It says “it is right” for all who dwell, yet it sends utter dread 

War is a grave of lingering souls found in mausoleums

Though it is temporary, it causes thermonuclear warheads 

War is a battle for peace of mind 

It causes neurons to fire unendingly 

Crazed are they who war day by day

Unstoppable images and accusations play 

Changing health of those and their chemistry 

Battling others for no reason at all it seems 

And war is a word 

It is a feeling of men who are disturbed

Who yield their battles on an innocent world 

Finding peace is the answer often beyond comprehension 

But without earnest seeking mankind might find extinction 

But these few men can’t bridle their urge

Often they lead others into their absurd 

And war is because of a mental disorder 

Selfishness and hatred of lovely brothers 

It is unkind; it is hatred where in there’s narcissism 

Seeking itself and manifesting nihilism 

War is not pretty but is repulsive 

It is in itself, ungodly terrorism 

War is the opposite of peace 

Wherein a soulless creature who has no sleep 

Bj 2017
Picture from Pinterest 

Peace Train Poetry 

There once was a man who sang about his hammer

He hammered out the love between brothers and sisters 

All over the world.
There once was a man who rang his bell

He rang it in the morning, he rang it in the evening 

All over this world
There once was a man who had a song

He sang in the morning, he sang it in the evening 

All over the world 

It was The Hammer of Freedom 

It was The Bell of Warning

It was a song about the love between his brothers and sisters 

All over the world 

There once was a man who braided a noose

He hung in a tree

All over the world
There once was a man who held fire

The fires that torched 

All over the world 
There once was a man who had a sword

He sickled it madly

All over the world 

It was a noose of hatred 

It was the fire that burns

It was a sword that slices the hearts of fathers and daughters 

All over the world 

Where are the men with the hammers

Where are the women with bells

Where are the children who sing about the love of Jesus 

All over the world 

Peace poetry 2017 bojenn

Whoever owns this picture 

Thank you. 

Peace of God





Have you ever questioned the truth about peace?

Perhaps it is an elusive naive word that doesn’t exist.

Infants understand the realities of Elysian Fields

By three a tyke knows angry voices less quiesce


Voices speak of truce and safety for all mankind 

The words disappear from oceans of ill-willed hate

Intolerance comes from within sacred sanctuaries 

Holy words of no value lest having peace of a mind


And God is behind the loathing of The Daughters of Eve?

Who love each other in a way that I don’t perceive

Who are we that dare utter the heart that God is abhorrent

Oh lord – it is we who’ve caused you to grieve 


And the nations rumble for the true children to birth

Bringing forward humble gracefulness on this earth

The possibilities for this generation to gain insights 

Could it be that one human could change lending mirth


What about ten, twenty, five thousand souls who then see

Reflecting on the noose hung around the branch of a tree 

A person hated because the color of the skin is different 

Eyes wide open, the sins of kin, and self idiosyncrasies 


The question of peace rolls around again and again 

It returns void and useless unless understood by a man 

The way of serenity and tolerance begins with oneself 

Thus the ways of God drown by our actions 

And will then ~ forever wane

For the peace of God begins with ‘we.’

Otherwise, truly peace, will never be 


Bj 2017


Ekaterina Finds Literary Magic. 



Ekaterina sat secretly in the attic consuming 


Words and stories from ages before her upbringing 

Her grandfather said, ‘don’t go into the attic.’

Then he winked, as he knew up there, she’d find magic 



Just as her wise grandfather had pointed the way

Ekaterina saw the words dance and light shimmers display 

Turning pages, dusty browned edges, sneezing while proofing 

Oh so mesmerized, lingering for the summer, delightfully giggling 



So it was that summer, spent with gramps, became her best memory 

Changing her forever, open to stories and whimsical fairies

Grandfather gave Ekaterina an inheritance from his treasury 

Lasting a lifetime, Kat bequeathed to her grandchildren 



For’ the lineage of words and tales found in an attic

Trickled down generations of descendants making literary addicts

All because a grandfather and his enchanted enigmatic 

Took initiative, gifting his offspring with analytical acrobatics 




Happy reading 🎩BJ

Thanking my mother for giving me the gift of literature 

Image from courtesy of The Poets Haven on FB

The Evening Eleanor Arrived By Bonnie Jennings

‘With a radiant warm smile the woman said, “Finally we get to meet. I am Eleanor, Ms. Catherine Dubois. Oh for five-hundred-years, I’ve waited for this moment.”‘

 

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How Eleanor came to visit me one stormy night is a story that succeeded another story of mystery and intrigue. The story thus became Cat Dubois’ Odyssey to Enchantment.

It was early fall and the first chill came that evening as the sheets of rain fell. Cat starred out the back windows simply mesmerized by the shears of wind and rain. She was cold, lonely and worried. The dreaded fears of the future somehow aligned itself with the deluge of water and her life appeared like the rain that ran off into the creek. Her tears could fill that stream that sat next to the eery woods behind her home. She prayed all the prayers that anyone could. Her Hope dimmed like the candles that burned next to her. And then, the electricity turned off. A transformer must have been hit. She threw a log into the fireplace and poured another glass of Cabernet.

Ka-Boom! The bolts were over her home. Flashes of lights were all around. The electric sky put on a show. A limb snapped in the woods. Wrapping a blanket around herself, she watched outside. She took another sip of the red warming wine. As she started to turn away, something caught her attention. Something unusual was going on back there.

“What’s that?” Cat whispered. There were swirling leaves and lights in the middle of her focus. “What the hell?” She intently stared now. The stirring of wind, leaves and sparks twenty feet from where she stood, caused her to stand back. She came forward and looked again.

“There is a woman,” Cat gasped.

Eleanor’s feet touched the ground in the middle of the puddles. Kaboom’s popped. Her hand grasped an umbrella. The woman didn’t seem a bit concerned about the conditions. She simply walked above the water towards the back porch.

There she shook the umbrella out, then sat it by the back door as it opened mysteriously, and said, “Put some tea on dear. We have work to do.”

Cat’s mouth dropped open, she said, Okay. She couldn’t decide if this event was good or evil; although, the woman was eccentric and that character trait, Cat felt compelled to entertain. She was a bit wary of an English woman. Strangely, She didn’t ring the front doorbell, nor knock like regular people do. She just appeared. Oh Lord, I’ve lost my mind.

The plump woman said to Cat in an old English brogue while standing at the backdoor, “Dear, if you’re going to fight devils, you will need help. Supernatural help. Never fight them alone.” She straightened out her clothes, walked inside and looked for the couch. On it, she plopped. “Get your pen and pad of paper. You’re going to write a story and I’m going to help you.”

Cat having few words ~ said, “All right. I will get them and the tea. What type of tea do you prefer?”

“My own,” and from her tote The woman brought out her stash of herbal delights. “Here smell this one. Get a cup for yourself, as well dear.”

Okay. After all, how do you say no to a delusion that manifested? And so, Cat sat two teacups down on the coffee table. She looked at the woman and paused before speaking, then said, “By the way, my name is Cat. Cat Dubois. What’s yours?”

With a radiant warm smile the woman said, “Finally we get to meet. I am Eleanor, Ms. Catherine Dubois. Oh for five-hundred-years, I’ve waited for this moment.”

 

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